


and then daylight

by foreignnatives



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:29:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28146876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foreignnatives/pseuds/foreignnatives
Summary: Traversing the post-apocalyptic wasteland is the most difficult task she’s ever encountered in her life, and Nora will accept any trustworthy commodity that comes her way. By a chance encounter, she discovers her most precious gift of all in Diamond City.The story of how Nora and Piper sought out the good, the bad, and the undeniable truth. Told in pieces, canonically-aligned (mostly).
Relationships: Female Sole Survivor/Piper Wright, Sole Survivor/Piper Wright
Comments: 19
Kudos: 15





	1. i

**Author's Note:**

> hi, my old account somehow was deleted so i decided to make a new one. this story was sitting in my drafts and i was like why the fuck not? so here we are. enjoy <3

It was well into October by the day she had woken up, the air sullen with a hollow, dry sort of cold. Fourteen miles later and it’s her third night conscious, the first in the city, and she’d learned quickly that she was not welcome. Prying eyes follow her steps, parents tug their children back as she passes. She couldn’t blame them; if there was a vagrant woman lurking through her own neighborhood, she probably would have wanted to shield her son, too.

Not that it mattered now, because Shaun was missing and Sanctuary Hills was now a desolate strip of concrete home to mutant insects and that group of people she ran into back in Concord. They’d been nice and the older woman in their group had generously—albeit a little more direct than she would have liked—pointed her in the direction of the proclaimed _Great Green Jewel_ . It wasn’t a city, not necessarily, but as urban as a place could get in a desert of dust and rebar. Her first thought upon peaking the crest of the stairs is one of disappointment; spread out on the expanse below was what she once would have referred to as _the slums_ (though after what she had seen in the Commonwealth so far, it was probably the most civilized area out there), building after building formed with rusty metal sheets and wooden pallets. A giant smokestack sat in the center, wrapped around it another merchant stand. She looks at it with sad recollection, all the moments she once thought fondly of burdening her with the notion that she would never experience anything like them again. It used to be Fenway Park, an old baseball stadium that now housed a couple hundred citizens and dozens of painful memories for her. 

The bar is situated in the dugout to the right. After talking to the reporter, Piper, she finds it. It’s not much, a humid, mostly-empty room filled up with a few threadbare couches and some chairs, but as she enters, a man’s booming voice beckons her to the counter. His accent is peculiar, because she’s not sure exactly _how_ he would have picked it up when planes and trains and essentially any mode of transportation had become nonexistent. It’s easy to dismiss it; she’s seen more unusual things.

“Newcomer, yes?” Though scarred and clearly weathered from life in post-nuclear Boston, he seems genial. Kind. Genuine. She appreciates it. “Your name?”

“Nora.” She responds. The word feels off on her tongue, heavy like it doesn’t belong there. She almost wishes she lied, because no one would _actually_ know if she was telling the truth or not. She should have said something else, a different name for a different life. Piper had already rebranded her, courtesy of the Pip-Boy strapped to her wrist. 

_Blue_ . She’d said. _Because you were a vault-dweller, and vault-dwellers wear blue._

“Ah, Nora!” The man grins. “I am Vahim. First drink on the house.”

She doesn’t decline, not because she can’t but because she doesn’t _want_ to. On any regular day, she’d turn it down because she had a kid at home and a reputation to uphold, something that public intoxication could damage. He’d offered her moonshine and she obliged, now housing a tumbler full of the clear stuff in her hands. The glass feels cold and she doesn’t drink it right away, instead watches the Diamond City natives amble about the room, busy in their drunken hazes and blissfully oblivious to the hazards outside of their wall. Though in a way jealous because the last three days had been hell and they seemed to be thoroughly out of it, she admires them. They found a way to live in peace with what had happened, with how the world works now, even though there wasn’t any _real_ peace. 

She takes a sip, and it burns. But it’s good. And she drinks the rest of it, right down to the last drop and even runs her tongue along the rim of the glass because she figures any cognitive leeway is worth chasing after. She’s a little hazy afterwards, but the buzz isn’t much when she’s motionlessly pitying herself.

The thought of two-hundred years passing by with a single flutter of her eyelids is enough to make her nauseous. When Codsworth had told her, she hadn’t believed it. But he’d always been earnest, and the physical signs of age were spread across the landscape. The rust encasing his metal frame didn’t help aid her disbelief in any way, either. It made her guilty to think about; Codsworth had been performing his duties for so long without anyone around to thank him, and had she never come back, he probably would have continued until the Earth stopped turning.

The opening and slamming of the door behind her plays somewhere in her subconsciousness, breaking her out of her trance. Nora blinks, watches as a man slumps over the bar, head in hands, and figures it’s someone else's turn to sulk. Slipping out unnoticed isn’t a hard task, everyone’s attention on their own drinks, and the only sign she leaves behind is her empty glass. She emerges from the well-lit dugout into the much duller night, chill enveloping her like an unwanted hug.

Most of the citizens have returned to their houses, but she spots a single man huddled in the dirt by the noodle stand. String lights crossed from building to building hang overhead like spider-webs, illuminating him in all of his misery. He’s dressed in rags, straggly hair veiled over his face as he nestles into himself for warmth. There’s some evidence of drug-use, the needle tracks on his arms she can spot from twenty feet away and the indicative, slow shakes that could have just as easily been from withdrawal as from the temperature.

She watches. In his crumpled posture, he doesn’t initially notice the woman in red approaching him. But a gentle hand laid on his forearm causes him to stir, look into her eyes and relax. Piper offers him a can of something steaming hot which he hastily accepts and then pulls what Nora thinks could be a wool blanket from beneath her arm, draping it over his shoulders. Piper says something to him, he responds, and then she’s walking towards her home, not aware of the woman who had been observing her from the alley.

<><><>

The first time that Nora meets Nick, she’s not sure what to think. He seems to be a contradiction of himself, a man that seemed so _human_ but just _wasn’t_. From a pigeonhole window outside his cell, she examines him. He’s an inch or so taller than her, faux-skin pale as a sheet, clad in a tan trench coat and worn fedora. It’s his eyes that get her though. As he turns, her breath catches in her throat.

They’re yellow. Canary yellow, a yellow so inhuman in regard to eye color. He stares past her intently for a moment, cocking his head to check over her shoulder to make sure that no more of the assailants have followed. But she’s alone— _painfully_ alone. So, unlike most people she’d met in the last four days, he greets her with a handshake, not the barrel of a gun.

“I presume that Ellie sent you.” 

Nora nods.

“Well, thank you. I think it’s best that we leave while we can.”

And so they do. Nora discovers that Nick is diligent with a revolver and gets them out through the vault entrance with some sharp shooting and sapient words. Nora follows him back to Diamond City and to his office where Ellie throws her arms around him, overwhelmingly happy with the discovery that he was entirely intact. 

Nora can’t help but feel frustrated with the scene, and she’s not sure _why_. She was a lawyer for God’s sakes, she should be happy to see reunification. But she isn’t. 

Eyes brimming with tears, Ellie turns to Nora, but she never lets them fall. It makes Nora wonder what the condition of their relationship is, but she doesn’t ask out of politeness. She accepts that whoever they are to each other, their connection is meaningful.

“Thank you…” She trails off. “I’m so sorry. I’m afraid I never caught your name.”  
“Nora.” She says. It still doesn’t feel right, like ripping off a bandaid. Or something more intense, she decides. Duct tape. 

“Nora.” Ellie repeats fondly. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.”

She is supposed to say _you’re welcome_ or _no problem_ or something similar, but no words come. The silence is dense for a second before the agency door swings open behind her, cold air pressing against her back before it slams shut. Nora flinches at the sound and the attention shifts off of her and onto the arrival.

Piper looks the same she had the previous night, red-jacket and all. She looms near Nora, beaming at the sight of Nick. When Piper had mentioned the Diamond City detective to her during the interview, she seemed sad, like he was just as great an influence on her as he was on Ellie, seemingly. She didn’t doubt it. 

“Nice work, Blue.” The nickname makes her blush. Piper clasps a hand on Nora’s shoulder. It’s a gentle touch, but tender, true appreciation is masked beneath it. Green eyes fall away from hers and back to Nick. “What trouble did you manage to get into, this time?”

“Oh, nothing. The usual, I suppose.” Nick’s bolts squeak just barely audibly as he sits down at the desk chair. He waves his hand, dismissing Piper’s question. “But nevermind that, let’s get down to the real topic at hand. Nora...not that you don’t seem like a lovely lady, but I question if you rescued me out of the kindness of your heart like a Good Samaritan, or was there something else that you needed?”

_Good_ _Samaritan_? Hardly. There's a certain amount of guilt that came with her chosen profession, something she carried with her unwillingly, but implicitly. Though veiled as a hero in some aspects, there were also the demonized parts of her job. The accusations, the interrogating, the locking up. And sometimes those people she dealt with were innocent. Their sentences were something she sparred with every single day, burden heftier than she can bear.

Her career was gone now, though. Just like many other things.

“Oh, Nick.” Ellie tuts, moving closer to him. “You just got back. Get some rest, and something to eat, please.”

Nick shakes his head. “You and I both know that I don’t need anything to sustain myself. I’ll be alright. And Nora here has done us a great favor.”

Ellie shrinks like a child being chastised. “Of course.”

Nick looks back to Nora expectantly, and Nora finds herself at a loss for words once again. Her situation is so...specific. So out of the ordinary, even in this new world. Or so she assumes. If she hadn’t seemed mental yet, no doubt that this would set that sort of speculation into motion.

“I was hoping you’d look into finding my son. He’s missing.”

Nick’s eyebrows raise slightly, concern edging his expression. But like a good detective, blatant surprise fails to push through. And like a good lawyer, Nora sees it anyway.

“Well…” Nick sighed. “That’s unfortunate. I’m sorry about your loss, friend.”

Nora doesn’t—can’t—say anything. As though her mouth is sealed shut, she sits and stares at the surface of the desk, head cloudy and body numb. Her hands clench, nails biting crescent-shaped indents in her skin. She feels alone again, even when stifled by the presence of others. But then there’s a familiar feeling, a hand on her shoulder again, and the warmth from Piper’s palm seems to leech into her. 

“He’s just a baby.” Nora murmurs, more to herself than anyone. But it’s a start. Nick and Ellie’s faces simultaneously go somber and then steady, like they’re already sure that the case is unmitigatable. Even so, Nora isn’t so complacent. She would track Shaun’s trail to the ends of the Earth and then some. She’d search until she reached the end of her rope, old and gray, no breath left to waste. 

“What else do you know?” Nick asks, and the memories replay in her head. 

She explains and everyone listens, Piper a warm comfort at her back, just like she had been to the poor man the night before. It’s her second time hearing the story, this time in much more detail, but she doesn’t leave, doesn’t question Nora. And though her head is fuzzy, cheeks reddening from the irritation of saline tears, Nora sinks into that warmth. 

“I suppose we’ll look into our files, see if we can pull anything.” Nick says. He turns to Ellie, shooting her a look that Nora can’t decipher, but the young woman seems to perceive. She starts sifting through the contents of a box near the edge of the left wall, one of many stacks. “All sorts of people come through here. It’s arguably the biggest settlement for miles, so there’s a high chance that we may have dirt on this guy.” He sets down his pen and Nora looks to the extensive list he has created on his legal pad. “Man with the scar…” He hums.

Ellie turns to look at Nora, face soft and gentle like she was looking down upon a child. “I will personally look through all the files, Nora. And you will be notified as soon as we find anything out, I swear.”

She wants to object. If there was _anything_ about the scarred man in those files, Nora wanted to be the first to see it. She wanted to know everything she could about him, down to his middle name, where he was born, if he ever had any children of his own. 

But Piper squeezes her shoulder again and she realizes that not only is that notion ridiculous, but very unethical. She was not certified to look into things like this, not with other people’s information at her exposure. So she nods, wiping her face with the sleeve of her flannel, and stands. 

“Thank you.”

Piper walks with her out the door, moreso navigating where she was going than she was herself because Nora feels incapable of doing even the simplest things in the moment, and the reporter seems to understand. Nora isn’t aware of where she’s being led until they’re already at Piper’s doorstep. She glances perplexed at the other woman.

“Where did you sleep last night?” 

_Outside._ There were rows of mattresses in the posterior section of the city where dozens of people slept. All of the beds were unmarked and though Nora waited to see if anyone would take the one she had her eye on, no one did. So she laid down, head tucked to her chest. She didn’t think she had ever felt so exposed in her life but managed to sleep for an hour or so at a time. And in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to rise, she awoke with a swift kick to her ribs. Pushed away, she wheezed and coughed in pitiful attempts to regain breathing, glaring at the turbulent lout who had thought it appropriate to get so physical over something as trivial as a mattress. He’d been pissed, grunting something about not taking other people’s spots.

Nora doesn’t answer, but Piper gets it. She opens the door, the loud squeal alerting the little girl inside who she had seen selling papers the day before. She is sprawled across the couch, a colorless comic book just inches away from her nose. She rolls over, tossing it onto the coffee table beside and looks curiously at Nora. 

“Come in.” Piper steps aside and swings her arm towards the living space of Publick Occurrences. “Out there is no place for anyone to be sleeping.”

Nora says thank you, but only in her head. She can’t seem to make her mouth and brain work concurrently. 

“Nat.” Piper says to the girl. Nora gets a better look at her now, and she sees the similarities between the two of them, Piper and Nat. They have the same eyes, olive-green, and she even sees the freckles sprinkled across the young girl’s nose, just like the ones that were subtly fading from Piper’s. “This is my friend Blue. Blue, this is my sister, Nat.”

The nickname comes back, and for whatever reason, Nora finds herself content with it. _A new identity for a new life_.

“Nice to meet you.” The young girl waves.

Nora waves back.

“Alright, kiddo.” Piper ushers Nat to the back of the shack house, behind a cinder-block wall. “Time for bed. It’s late.”

“ _Piper_.” The young girl whines, but obeys anyways, following. 

Nora takes the few seconds Piper is in the back to look around. She’d been in once before, but her mind wasn’t necessarily so clear (not that it is now, either) and she hadn’t quite absorbed the surroundings. There are two front doors, one leading outside and the other to the little newsstand space. Inside, there are a row of lockers on one side of the main room and a tattered couch opposing it. Then a coffee table in the center, further on, Nat’s space and a set of stairs potentially leading to where Piper slept. It was nice, Nora thinks, compared to everywhere else she had been. Quaint and cozy, albeit a little messy. Nora had once heard that the organization of a person’s home could say a lot about them, and despite only knowing her for a day, this seemed undeniably _Piper_.

“Sorry about that.” Piper says, turning off one of the lights, leaving a single kerosene lamp to illuminate the room. “You can take my bed.”

Nora’s eyes widen. “No, of course not.”

“Blue.” Piper raises a hand. “I’m not making you sleep on the couch. Not tonight. If tomorrow you’d like to, that’s fine, but you’re taking my bed now.”

Nora is somewhat ashamed at accepting, but does so anyway, for Piper is relentless. The other woman shows her the room, a small upstairs area that’s hardly ten feet wide, but big enough for a desk, dresser, and bed. Nora knows this is where Piper works, and something about seeing it is so personal that it makes her head ache. Too much vulnerability, she thinks. Her nerve endings are raw, but her emotions vibrant and loud, demanding to be felt.

Piper bids her goodnight, leaves her and returns downstairs, shuffling around in the dimly-lit room before quieting. Nora thinks she’s gone to sleep, and she wonders if the woman would be mad if she left, if she ran away. Because this was all too much and she couldn’t handle it.

Rationality had always been her strong suit; she had always been good at making decisions. Mature, her peers called it. Responsible. But now she wanted to be the immature child she never got to be, growing up too fast to marry and have a child whom she loved dearly, but was probably never a fit parent for in the first place. 

She doesn’t. And not because she doesn’t want to, but because Piper had been so nice to her. So accommodating, so kind. Nick and Ellie were going to help her, even when that egocentric mayor wouldn’t. Mostly, she doesn’t for Shaun, because she _wouldn’t_ leave him and this is his best shot. So she pulls it together and sheds her clothes—the tattered flannel and jeans she’d pulled off somebody, or what was left of somebody, so many miles away—before sinking into Piper’s mattress and enjoying the best seven hours she’d had since leaving Vault 111, even if spent unconscious.


	2. ii

It’s Piper’s idea to leave the confines of the walls. Nora’s uncertainty lies on her face plain as day, but with the promise that they’ll check back with Nick the _minute_ they return, she relents. It didn’t seem as though waiting around and worrying more would help her cause, anyway. Piper’s younger sister seems frustrated with their departure and puts up somewhat of a fight when Piper tries to lead her out the door to school, but with some nudging and some not-so-subtle threats, Nat leaves.

They ascend the rusty stairs to the entrance of the city and Piper chats to Nora enthusiastically, although she can’t quite seem to match the reporter’s level of ardor. So she stays quiet, nodding here and there, until they reach the crest of the flight. She turns around, staring out over the baseball metropolis once more. Piper notices her halt, and steps up alongside her. 

“It can be pretty sometimes, can’t it?” The dark haired woman grins. “She’s not much, but she’s home.”

Nora is at a loss of words; as nice as sleeping on a real mattress (albeit a little moth-eaten and flat) had been, the night’s rest had not brought the clarity she so desperately needed. Her own brain is a warzone, just as savage and threatening as the land outside the city’s walls, loud and stifling and unable to be quelled. 

“C’mon.” Piper interrupts the mental train wreck as it commences. “I know some pretty good spots to gather supplies. You’d be surprised what looters miss.”

Nora follows as Piper starts down the steps, still wary to venture outside. As much as she’d learned in the passing days, it still remained a shock the methods in which she was taking merely to _survive_ . Once she had thought schooling, taxes, appealing to those around her and just about every other first-world problem had been hard, but not compared to this. But things back then, over two centuries prior, were exponentially easier. There was no need to sleep with one eye open, and acquiring basic necessities was as easy as visiting a grocery store. Not compared to _looting_. To gathering supplies and gunning people down in broad daylight, just so she’s not the body being dredged up from the mud. To sleeping in the streets like some rabid, abandoned dog. As much as the environment she’s been plunged head-first into scares her, it’s what she’s becoming that frightens her more. 

As they leave, the gatekeeper, Danny, is missing from his station. The thought that he had been scared off by Piper’s outburst humors her, although she doesn’t do anything but smile at the sight of the masked guard instead occupying the station. Piper doesn’t seem to notice, pulling her pistol from her waistband as she steps onto the demolished concrete of the street. She begins to walk in stride to the left, passing the umpire-guards, and Nora follows in suit. They break into a jog passing the east wall, and soon enough they’re off Diamond City territory. There’s no guards to protect her here. Only Piper.

It truly isn’t that Nora doesn’t like her. Hell, the poor woman had quite literally given up her bed just so that Nora could have a peaceful night’s rest. She’s guilty, almost. There was nothing in the entire Commonwealth that Nora can offer her in return for the pure kindness Piper is offering her. But she’s also wary. Because trust is earned, and Piper’s _surely_ earning it, but she’s not entirely certain of where they stand together yet. It’s throwing her off just how much she’s taking to Piper already, and that scares her the most. 

As though the universe is laughing at her, Piper stops in front of a shopping mart that Nora vaguely recognizes from the relatively undamaged part of the sign. The parking lot is covered in scattered cars and the occasional rotting corpse or bare pile of bones, and the looming front window of the store is entirely shattered, shards of glass still piled on the ground like a layer of ice. 

“Just stick next to me.” Piper says to her lowly as they approach the open wall. 

Nora does as she’s instructed, seemingly pulled along two feet behind Piper like there’s a rope connecting them. It’s quiet on the inside, but there’s still thousands of square feet to cover. 

With each step, Nora brushes her hand lightly on the nearest objects in order to steady herself, more emotionally than physically. Neither dares to turn on their flashlight, not until they’re certain they’re alone. Nora’s nerves are raw, raised to the surface of her skin. 

They stop once they’re at the edge of the front wall, at the southeastern corner of the store where the register lines end. Here Piper slowly stands, eyes focused and scanning the nearest shelving units. She does something that makes Nora’s hair stand up, something she hadn’t expected. A slow, wispy whistle passes Piper’s lips, and then she stands, waiting. When nothing moves, her shoulders untense. 

“I think we’re fine.” Piper mumbles, moving forward. Nora trails behind.

Most of the shelves are barren, stripped of the products they once held. Two centuries had done quite the number on the store infrastructure—light pours in from a lengthy fissure in the roof above what once was the freezer section, and Nora suddenly feels a lot more exposed even with the added light. If she closes her eyes, she can imagine what this place used to look like in the days of civility. The thought of just how much time had passed is hard for her to conceptualize. This fact is something she’s struggling to accept, and most definitely something she’d never fully understand. Because even though she feels lucky that she is alive, breathing, and able to even _attempt_ to track Shaun down, it just doesn’t make any sense. Out of every living soul in that entire vault facility, _why her_ ? All things considered, there were many others frozen in cryo, frozen in time, that were much more equipped to handle this life. This _predicament_ . Nate included. And though she mourns his death and is proud of him for protecting their son to the best of his ability, she can’t help but try to smother the frustration that rises in her remembering his death. It’s entirely unfair that she even _thinks_ of blaming him for dying, though the upset thought certainly crosses her mind. But that anger slowly tapers off to sadness, and she’s reminded of just how out of depth she is here. 

“Hey, Blue?” Piper whispers quietly. Nora looks up to her and can just barely make out her features with the little light the breaks in the solid wall are providing her. “I’m going to look in the back, you stay here. I’ll let you know when it’s safe.”

It’s a relief that Piper is so much more alert than she is. Being sidetracked and thoroughly distracted by the quandaries her own mind conjures up isn’t uncommon for Nora; she’d always been a worrier, a thinker. 

It’s silent for the moments passing when Piper enters the storage room, and Nora waits in brooding silence. If not for the agonizing fear that’s overcoming her, she’d consider running off on her own to look around for supply. But though splitting up may mean a higher chance of finding more to take back, it also meant a higher chance of injury and God forbid, death. 

It seems as though Piper’s found nothing as the room stays still, dark, and quiet, but then there’s an uproar of pandemonium that makes Nora’s eyes widen and teeth grit. The bedlam that sounded an awful lot like an entire shelving unit being upturned is followed by three echoing gunshots and three golden flashes that briefly light up the room. Nora’s arteries turn to slush and she throws herself through the swinging doors to find Piper crouched over the body of a feral, crushed under the weight of a steel beam and painted in its own rancid, black blood. 

“Are you okay?” Nora can’t help but ask. As much as she tried to convince herself that Piper was a mere acquaintance and they’d soon part ways, the nurturing part of her worries for the other woman’s safety. She feels that it’s foolish for Piper to throw herself into harm’s way such as she did, but as cosseting as she naturally is, she has no obligation in this situation. This is something she is in the process of quietly convincing herself of. 

“Yeah, I…” Piper breathes in a way that tells Nora she’s shaken, although attempting not to reveal it. “Came out of nowhere.”

It’s a curious thing how Piper does it—sure, she’d been fairly aggressive in their first encounter merely thirty hours ago, but this was unprecedented. The way she handled herself, confident and cool in the face of the most execrable entities the earth beneath their feet could conjure up, meanwhile _also_ managing to hold status as the most tender individual she’d encountered in a long time, apocalypse or not. 

Nora nods, consciously tears her eyes away, and tries to steady the thundering beats in her chest. She decides to provide some more light and fiddles with her Pip-Boy to find the flashlight function. She nearly blinds herself finding the correct switch, but the room is successfully illuminated in a sickly, green glow. Like the front, this section of the store is pretty wiped. Piper quickly gets to work overturning old crates while Nora uses her feet to brush away the debris while simultaneously avoiding the decrepit thing Piper had taken out. For minutes it’s silent, save for the sound of their scavenging, but then Piper hums approvingly, just quiet enough that Nora hardly hears it. 

“Find anything?”

“Just some Cram.” Piper says, although Nora can detect a little more pride beneath her words than she’s letting on. 

They don’t find much, to Nora’s annoyance. It’s not surprising, she supposes. The place had sat unsupervised and vacant for so many years that it makes sense most of the worthwhile items had been snatched up, although Piper doesn’t seem to think so. The mere fact that they had scored some cans of food that were sealed made her eyes widen with some sort of childlike wonderment. As they climb out the same broken window they had entered through, careful not to slice themselves on the remaining shards jutting out like knives, Piper talks animatedly about the sum total of the trip. 

“Not a bad run. Myrna will certainly appreciate it, if not our stash.”

It’ll take longer to get back to the city than it did to come in the first place, Nora realizes, because it’s darker out and Piper’s pack is a little heftier. They settle for walking, albeit swiftly, but enough that Nora actually accrues some sense of peace.

As they reach the edge of the parking lot, where shattered asphalt meets more shattered asphalt, an inconsistency in the detritus catches Nora’s eye. She crouches and cautiously moves some of it to the side, hesitantly waiting for one of those mutated mole rats to snap at her just as the first one she’d ever seen did just outside of Sanctuary on October 23rd. 

But underneath the rubble is a teddy bear, fur matted and tangled from years of strand, though it’s all intact. She wipes away as much dirt and dust as she can before standing up and holding it out to Piper. “Think Nat would like this?”

Piper smiles softly and takes it, gazing down at the stuffed animal with what Nora gauges as appreciation. She doesn’t mean to make an already tense moment awkward, but Piper doesn’t make a huge scene of it. The reporter tucks it away in her pack, and they continue to walk. 

“You know, I think she would. She doesn’t have a lot of toys.” 

Nora nods. “I wonder if any old department stores still have some.” 

“Nah,” Piper disagrees gently. “Most have been cleared. Anything that isn’t a necessity these days is deemed dispensable. Most toys have been stripped for parts already.”

Nora understands. Though unfortunate, a toy being stripped for materials was better off than one being used a few hours a day for a child's entertainment. She does pity the children of this age, but from what she understood of Piper’s younger sister, she seems to make do with what she has. It’s another trait the siblings seem to share. One valuable, especially in this lifetime. 

“She seems like a good kid.”

Piper inhales sharply. “Most of the time. Her childhood wasn’t all that great, but I try to raise her right.” 

Nora can’t imagine any child living now is as privileged as she was herself in her adolescence, though the sentiment only makes her heart hurt more for the absence of her son. 

“I don’t know her well, but I think you’ve done a good job.”

“Thanks, Blue.”

She means it full-heartedly. In this century, it seems to Nora as though it’s sink or swim, and Piper had chosen the latter. Nora wants to choose that, too, but her choice is still in progress.

By the time they reach the city, the callous dusk has effectively driven most folks indoors. Nora walks behind Piper timidly, unsure if she’s overstepping. But Piper doesn’t head directly for her own home, instead pushing on through the market and then through the alley behind it, towards Nick’s office. With the events of the day, too exciting for Nora’s taste, she’d nearly forgotten about the files. 

When they step in, the detective is nowhere to be found, but half a dozen boxes seem to have been upended and emptied on the floor. 

“Hey, Nick?” Piper calls out. There’s soft pattering of feet descending down a set of stairs, and then the detective strolls out from behind the corner. 

“My apologies,” Nick mutters, stepping over the mess. “We’ve gone through just about everything here and I think we’ve got ourselves a lead.”

“Where’s Ellie?” Piper asks.

“Oh,” Nick sits down in his chair and pulls a specific, fairly thin file from the middle drawer of his desk. “I sent her home earlier. She was up all night looking through this with me, fortunately to some avail.”

Nora feels a prod of guilt for keeping the young woman up, although the promise of information quickly smothers any regret. 

“Nora,” Nick’s eyes flicker up to her. “Do me a favor and take a seat, if you will.”

Nora follows the man’s instructions, suddenly more worried by the severity that borders on panic in Nick’s expression. “Tell me,” She orders softly. “Please.” 

The information Nick offers her is enough to invoke a physical reaction, nearly nausea, and Nora hasn’t much to say by the end. Her ability to understand the circumstances seems null, and she mumbles a brusque _thank you_ before pushing out the front door, braving the night chill. Despite what she had anticipated, Piper doesn’t follow behind. And for once since she’s woken up, Nora is more than happy to be alone.

There’s really nowhere to go. So she finds herself in the _exact_ place she last waded in her self-misery. This time she doesn’t approach the bar, and given it’s a Friday night, the place is far too crowded for anyone to actually notice her. 

At some point, she manages to fall asleep on the couch despite the noise. She’s awoken to a soft nudge at her knee, and she blinks slowly before her brain recognizes the presence in front of her. 

It’s odd to her that Nick can appear so concerned, a _very_ anthropoid expression, when he’s very obviously artificial. The thought is almost too much for her to consider upon emerging from sleep, and she’s almost of ashamed of contemplating it after everything he’d done for her thus far. 

“You haven’t eaten, have you, kid?”

The question is simple, but Nora has to actually try and remember what she’d last had. The amount of time it takes for her to think tells Nick what he wants to know, and he gestures his head for the door. She knows that Nick, Ellie, and Piper are only so sympathetic because they’re just _good_ people at their core, but Nora feels like a child under their constant, albeit condoling, scrutiny. 

They end up at the noodle stand in the market, and Nick buys her a bowl. He eats along with her, though she knows it’s only for her own comfort and not out of his own need. He talks to her and fills the air with stories and vital information she may need to utilize for her assured survival in the Commonwealth because he knows it’s what she needs, and he appreciates it. 

By the time she had found the bottom of her bowl which had taken longer than she’s willing to admit, Nick pauses in his speech and levels her with an unsure look. 

“We can talk more tomorrow. And I won’t ask you if you’re alright, because I’m quite certain I know the answer, but just know you’re always welcome in my neck of the woods. And as for our mutual friend, she feels the same. Piper requested I direct you to her when I found you.”

Nora nods, staring intently at the counter. “Would you be willing to come with me tomorrow?” 

Nick doesn’t seem phased by the question. “Sure thing.” He says, before leaving her at the counter in her own solidarity, save by the noodle bot. _Takahashi_ , she think Nick had mentioned, although she’d been too sidetracked to really be sure what had left Nick’s lips the entire time.

This dependence on everyone around feels foreign. It’s likely because Nora had once been the one everyone had depended on, and now the conditions were different. Very different. She hesitates to knock on Piper’s door, but once she does, it swings open almost immediately. 

Nora expects the company she’d shadowed most of the day, but the girl who greets her is a foot shorter and about twelve years younger.

“Hi.” Nat stares up at her. 

“Hi.” Nora replies, forcing a smile. It felt wrong to display her distress to a child. “Your sister around?”

“Upstairs.” Nat steps aside and dramatically sweeps her arm in front of her body, welcoming Nora in. 

The display forces a chuckle from her, a quick spark of amusement that she's not felt for a while. She climbs the stair and leaves the younger girl to her own means, pretending not to notice the familiar stuffed bear lying face-down on the coffee table. 

Piper isn’t in her bedroom, but the door to the left of her bed is left cracked open, and through the rift, she can see the younger woman sitting on the roof with her legs thrown over the side, staring out at the dark blue night sky. 

The screech of the metal door alerts Piper to Nora’s presence, but she’s met with soft pat on the roof next to her instead of a glance over her shoulder. 

“Nick said I should come over. I’m not disrupting, am I?”

“Not at all.” Piper says, eyes never breaking away from the night display. 

Nora sits down beside her, tucking her legs underneath rather than kicking them out over the side. Dissimilar to what Nora expects, Piper doesn’t try and fill the empty air with conversation. Not at first, at least, but then she shifts and opens her mouth to speak. It takes a moment to collect her thoughts, and the admission comes out clement and natural.

“I’ve only ever seen vault dwellers one other time.”

“Oh?”

Piper nods. “Yeah. Back when I was a teenager, Nat and I lived in another settlement. It was smaller, and this one time a group of disbanded vault dwellers stopped in to purchase some gear. And you know me, I’ll never pass up a story.”

The thought of young Piper, too small for her news cap and too ambitious for her age running around and interrogating people in order to find a story just seems to fit. It makes her realize that to some small—miniscule, even—extent, beauty still existed in the depths of hell. It was just Nat and Piper from Nora’s understanding, but the two of them were still very much a family, and that offered Nora some semblance of optimism that she and Shaun still had a chance out there. 

“You lived in another settlement?”

“Yeah,” Piper nods, and though Nora can’t exactly decipher the exact emotion behind her words, she senses sadness. “Up until I was seventeen. To make a long story short, it wasn’t really safe to be there anymore.”

Nora doesn’t mean to sound so condescending, but she can’t help but make a small jab. “I never thought I’d see the day that a reporter would want to make a story shorter.”

Piper snorts. “Heh. Yeah, short stories aren’t necessarily my gig.”

Nora feels the spread of a genuine smile on her face.

“It’s, uh…” Piper looks down. “My mom died when I was pretty young…”

Nora frowns. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, thanks. I was twelve, actually. She didn’t survive Nat’s birth, unfortunately. That settlement didn’t have a wide range of doctors, and our supplies at that point were fairly limited. It was a real tiny settlement. So Nat grows up a little bit, and my dad and I were all she had. My dad...he was an odd guy.” There’s a bit of amusement peeking through Piper’s expression at the mention of her father. “Our dad, he was a part of the local militia. He was really passionate about it, always worried about the greater good than he was for himself. I can’t blame him for being a hero, but it’s really harder to live that life without _someone_ taking advantage.

“And so it goes, one day our dad turns up dead. When the rest of the crew comes back, everyone’s real quiet. His captain, this asshole named Mayburn, comes to us claiming that some raider must’ve gotten him when he was on duty. I didn’t buy it. I don’t know why. Everyone was just so nonchalant about it, and that rubbed me the wrong way. So I start making inquiries. Turns out Mayburn had sold out. Didn’t think he was getting paid enough to babysit the town, and his solution was to open the settlement gates one night and let the raiders invade, then take a cut of the profit.” Piper scoffs, quietly seething in disbelief. “My dad had found out and was going to turn him in, but Mayburn got to him first. And when I found out, well, I wasn’t going to let that bastard get away with murder.

“I tried talking to the mayor. But he was like McDonough—worse, if you could believe it—and, uh, he doesn’t listen. So I took it into my own hands, and plastered the town in wanted papers. It got some attention, and then the mayor all of the sudden wanted to talk. They threw Mayburn out on his ass, and were very dug-in when a group of surprised raiders showed up at the gates not long after. Guess I finished pop’s job, after all.”

The tension left in the air was thick, but Nora appreciated the vulnerability. Maybe it was what she needed, and Piper was just the right person to provide. 

“Sorry,” Piper says apprehensively, seemingly gauging Nora’s reaction. “Too much?”

“Of course not.” Nora replies, attempting to sound as encouraging and supportive as she can manage. “Can I ask what happened afterwards?”

“I couldn’t really leave my home anymore. All the town mothers were constantly leaving food on our doorstep, and I didn’t feel safe with that settlement’s authority. At some point this caravan comes through and they mention something about a large settlement, and I’m game. Nat’s five years old and I’m only seventeen, and I figure I needed to find some better place for her to grow up. We left with no word to anyone, and hardly anything of our own.”

“That’s impressive, Piper.”

“If you say so,” Piper replies, clearing her throat, uncomfortable under the praise. “A lot of people didn’t give me a second glance, but Nicky...he saw through my bullshit. You’re supposed to be 18 to apply for housing in the city, and I hadn’t even finished schooling yet. But we don’t have concrete birth certificates or degrees like they did back in the good ol’ days, so I couldn’t be disproven. I sold my dad’s ring to use for a down payment on the Publick, and here we are. Nick looked out for us, always has, so I’m really glad you got him out yesterday. Thank you.”

Nora shrugs. “Doesn’t size up to what you’ve done for me.” 

Piper laughs fondly. “No sense in comparing.”

Nora nods along with her, although the atmosphere seems to weigh down a little more as the seconds pass. Impending doom awaits her the next day, and Nora’s not certain of what she’ll discover. She knows what she wants to find, but things are never that easy. 

“I’m leaving in the morning.” Nora whispers. Piper doesn’t immediately react. “Nick and I.”

“Okay.” Piper agrees. “I...I’ll see you when you get back.”

“Let's hope so.”

“Hey,” Piper scolds quietly. “We don’t think like that around here. You, Nick, and God-willingly, Shaun will be here by tomorrow night. And we’ll put you up in a nice room at the inn until we can find something more permanent. You’re doing this, Blue.” 

The nickname again. Nora is beginning to take to it.

“Yes.” She thinks back to her evaluation of the reporter earlier. Her choice: to swim. It wasn’t a single, uniform choice. It was something that Piper woke up every day and decided. It emanates strength and a willingness to fight that both infuriates and inspires Nora, because it means there is something out there worth fighting for, even when the desire to lay down and give up is overwhelming. So she makes a decision. One that effectively severs her self-pity because this isn’t just about her, and it’s even more than just Shaun. This is her life now whether she likes it or not, and it’s something she’s going to learn to accept. “I’m doing this.”


	3. iii

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't know how i feel about this one. but enjoy <3

Finding Conrad Kellogg is simple, and killing him is even easier. He dies slowly, twitching softly while his body racks with each wave of pain until he stills. He, in essence, drowns in his own blood, and as much as Nora thinks this should make her feel something, _anything_ , she remains stoic. Unbothered. Calm. 

His body is just one of dozens. More corpses stare up at her from the ground, all metal teeth and backlit eyes. Nick told her after the first encounter on the upper floor that they were the first generation, machines made to gather materials from the surface and sustain the blood-and-flesh people below. The man who abducted her son and killed her husband used them for other reasons—they were bodyguards. Each body hitting the ground another sacrifice to ensure his own preservation.

That’s the way it goes, she thinks. Or at least _went_ , back in the olden days. Anything created by flesh and muscle that isn’t something _also_ created of flesh and muscle is utilized for the benefit of humanity. Nick, as cognitively present as he currently is, standing just a few feet behind her as Nora studies the dead man’s face, is just another machine in other’s eyes. Though she had been a bit put-off by his appearance for some time after they’d met, she had found something calming in his occupancy that made this experience minisculely easier.

Kellogg seemed relatively normal; he had clearly been locked up in Fort Hagen for awhile now, physical signs showing. It had been days since he’d shaved, stubble spotting his cheeks, chin, and upper lip. There’s a thin sheen of sweat that coated his forehead despite the coolness of the room that mixes with the blood streaming down his forehead. He’s on his side, facing the stairs leading up to the elevator, expression blank. For whatever reason that made his existence in the world even further cryptic, it took far too many bullets to merely dent him. Eventually, after one particular strike just below his left row of ribs, he’d fallen behind a monitor stand and ordered the few remaining first generations to attack, although they weren’t as sustainable as he had been and fell only seconds later. Then he had been a sitting-duck, knocking on death’s door.

It surprises her just how _angry_ she’d been. Of course this rage had been fueled by the circumstances, but there was some feeling deep down within her that she’d never felt before. Primordial rage, like something that had been burrowed deep within her since her first breath. Something strong enough for her to put the pistol to his forehead and order him one last time to tell her where to find Shaun. And when he’d told her the bitter truth that she now wants to deny, she’d pulled the trigger and watched the man fade anyway. 

For so long, Kellogg had lived in some form of luxury. The Institute’s strong, albeit limited, support, gave him the ability to live with some assurance of longevity that ordinary people, like the citizens of Diamond City, did not have. In the end, it didn’t matter. He had died just the same way she’d woken up days earlier: cold and alone. 

She can hear Nick shift somewhere behind her, his footsteps light as he approaches her and places a hand on her back that reminds her of why they had come. 

“We should go.” He says quiet and firmly. 

She agrees, but finds some difficulty in actually making her limbs move. Before she wills herself to stand, a glint near a bloody gash on his forehead catches her eye, something so inhuman that she crouches back down to investigate.

Normally, she’d hesitate to dig her fingers into the wound of a dead body—or any body, for that matter—but she doesn’t think about it much before pulling back a flap of skin to reveal shattered skull fragments and some sort of device that surely wasn’t residing there naturally. It’s mostly flesh-like, pink and bloody as though it was a chunk of his frontal lobe, but it’s firmer than it should be and dark cords dangle from the main piece. It sits heavily in her hands as she tries to make something of it, although nothing comes to mind. 

“Nick?” She calls, and he turns to her from the doorway. 

“Yeah?”

“Look at this.”

Nora stands and carries it to him, grimacing as it’s handed over. Nick doesn’t seem so phased by it, but comes back just as lost. “No idea.”

Though it seems like a useless hunk of metal, a particular reporter had shown her the value in useless junk. After being wrapped in some material Nora had cut up for bandages, she hands it off to Nick, who drops it in his jacket pocket. Even if her attempt to use it to her advantage came up futile, there was surely someone in the city willing to buy Institute technology off their hands. From what she had seen, people were simultaneously horrified and riveted by this mystery organization, and if what Kellogg had admitted to her was true, then she could consider herself a part of that group as well. 

The elevator ride on the way up is turbulent enough to make her nauseous, but she’s content with being done. For now. The journey—if that is the appropriate term—isn’t close to being over. All things considered, it seems as though she’s just begun. 

Clambering down the hastily-built scaffolding that led to the top of Fort Hagen, Nora wonders who could have put it there. She doesn’t remember much about this place—by the time Shaun had been born, Nate was practically done with his army career. It had been his life, but knowing that his son needed him more was what brought him back. It wasn’t that Nora minded being an army wife; actually, she quite enjoyed it. But the separation, dealing with everything on her own...that became exhausting almost shamefully quick. Her son was their provided anchor, and _so_ much more. Dare she say her life; she wasn’t sure how she would fare without the incentive of his own, especially now. 

She assumes the fort must have been used as a safehouse at some point. It wouldn’t be surprising if someone like Preston utilized a building with decent protection in order to accommodate some refugees. He’d been quite genial towards her despite her initially volatile nature. The thought of leaving them for the raiders _had_ crossed her mind, because it wasn’t _actually_ her job to be their hero, but there were no police to call in this life. When they’d met, Preston bruised and sweaty and somewhat proud of this woman he’d never met, and he’d told her of their cause. Told her where they had been heading, to a development not far up the road. What Nora hadn’t admitted to him was that she had lived there once, and she had watched her husband be murdered in cold blood—literally—and her son be abducted just up the hill from her address.

When they get to the bottom of the unstable platforming , Dogmeat wags his tail and runs to them, but upon noticing their body language, he nudges Nora’s hand. She doesn’t mean to, the reaction is instinctual, but she bats him away. He strays a few feet behind as they travel back into the heart of Boston.

Though they walk for what seems like days, at first Nora doesn’t recognize at first that they’re about three-quarters back to Diamond City. Her thoughts are running too rampant, which is dangerous, but there wasn’t much she could do to cure herself of her dread, her grief, and her uncertainty. The discarded bodies of mutant rats lay stale on the train tracks as they step onto the crumbled asphalt of the street. 

“Nick.” She calls again, not bothering to block the dolor from her tone. 

He turns, vibrant eyes falling upon her in a way that _never_ keeps her from losing her breath. They bore into her in a way that’s so auspicious and uncritical but _still_ manages to make her feel like a child caught doing something wrong. Whenever she’s in doubt of her surroundings, almost entirely convinced she’s having a nervous breakdown, his presence is binding. Reminds her that what this is is _not_ her dissociating. Something about him, several somethings, made his presence seem so natural and so faux at the same time. Though he’s not really human, there’s signs of weakness palpable, as though his flesh is the same as hers. As though they bleed the same color. 

“There’s some things I think I need to take care of.” Her tone is shaky, low, and conveys the state of fatigue she’s been fighting off for so many days. “Before we continue, I think.”

He nods, and his eyes flicker out over the train tracks where two mangy mutts fight over what appears to be a bloody carcass. A sight no one looks twice at these days. When he looks back, the normal quizzical stare is replaced with one of mutual understanding, and Nora can feel herself shrink involuntarily. “If that’s what you think is best. Just know we’ll always be here.”

Nora nods. “Yeah.”

And when she turns away, she doesn’t hear him move. Nora doesn’t look back, but she knows he watches her and Dogmeat walk away, through the straggly tree line and onto a path leading out of the city, through Lexington, and all the way back to Sanctuary Hills. He does it because he cares, she knows this, but she assumes what she feels must be the worst in the world, because if anything is clear, it’s that she’s letting him down. 

<><><>

It takes her over a day. The hours are long, and she can feel herself tire more with every step. The nights are even worse, because though she’s absolutely _beat_ , she doesn’t have the capacity to will herself to close her eyes.

But when she crosses that final hundred feet, over the bridge and past the metallic skeletons of the houses she used to pass on her way to work everyday, there’s some sort of flood of relief. Like the weight of the Commonwealth has finally fallen off her shoulders, like she can finally _relax_ a little bit. It seems as Sanctuary is its own strip of land, void of the horrors of anywhere else. This isn’t true, and the thought is more than dangerous. Lethal, even. But the soft brown eyes that meet her own as she finds Preston and his people nearly brings tears to her eyes. 

“Miss Nora.” Preston says fondly, doubling his pace across the patio towards her. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“I see that you made it.” She responds. 

He nods, glancing around at the small camp they had set up. It’s not much, just one of the only houses on the street that _isn’t_ entirely rubble, a small campfire that’s actively being controlled by Sturges who offers her a cordial nod, and some sleeping bags she can see through the cracks in the wall. Something from nothing. In Preston’s own words: _a sight for sore eyes_. 

“Small beginnings, I suppose…” Preston shifts on his feet, finger off the trigger of his rifle. “You hungry?”

If Nora’s anything more than tired, it’s that. “ _Starving_.”

The food isn’t great. Cram. The mere thought of it makes her mouth fill with saliva, but more in a nauseous way than out of hunger. Sturges had been kind enough to salvage a cast-iron pan and heat it up to the best of his ability, although that gelatin-preservative taste never really leaves, and she feeds the last bit of it to Dogmeat who happily licks the bottom of the can clean.

There’s six of them now with Nora’s arrival. Preston, Sturges, Mama Murphy, Jun and Marcy. She doesn’t mean to, she figures it’s the skills all those years in school had instilled in her, but she analyzes each person move from her spot by the house, back propped up against the wall. Preston is the ringleader, easily. It’s not a difficult conclusion to come to; he seems to command everyone effortlessly, sometimes even without words. But it’s not overbearing; it seems to her that he genuinely wants what's best for everyone, including at the disadvantage of himself. Given the opportunity, she’d bet he would offer the clothes off his back for someone else in need. Sickly sweet, but most certainly admirable. He’s soft, but only when need be, and if it’s his own people in danger, _then_ the claws come out. 

Sturges reminds her of a few people she met in college, way back when. Despite everything, his humor is intact, making everyone laugh eventually, even Marcy, as bitter as she is. It’s a wonder to her where he had come from, because his knowledge of machinery and basic engineering is refreshing. Quietly intelligent—something about him reminds her of the man she had lost, and so she forces herself to stop thinking about it.

Jun and Marcy is where it gets a bit confusing, because they're so _different_ than everyone else. Nora had caught that they were husband and wife, although they act distant towards each other, some form of silent betrayal unbeknownst by any who didn't know anything of them. It had slid past Nora the first time they'd met, but now, seeing them actually interact in a situation where their lives aren't actively being threatened, there's a few things that catch her eye. The way that they sit two feet apart at all times, but Marcy still urges Jun to eat, quiet and firm. Or when Marcy gets angry enough that Nora's certain she's about to blow a gasket, Jun places his hand on her's, and she immediately begins to calm, even if only slightly.

Mama Murphy is the first to interrupt her thoughts, shuffling over to her, eyes misty and limbs shaky. _High_. She sits down, slowly, lowering herself to the ground as not to break a hip. It’s a miracle that she hadn’t been killed out in the world by immobility alone.

“How are you doing, kid?”

There’s an impulse to strike out. The question is loaded, as innocent as it seems at face value. And Mama Murphy knows it, she thinks, because how could she not? The things she had said during the first time they’d met...the old woman had raved like a lunatic. And yet, she’d been correct. It’s bemusing, the correctness of her predictions. In modern day, she would have claimed psychosis, but it seems she could be convinced of anything now, given what she had seen in the wasteland. Ghouls, mutants, _killer robots_. 

Amazement. Angry, harrowing, amazement.

“How did you know?”

There’s pause. But Mama Murphy’s face remains untelling; a useful skill Nora hadn't ever possessed. Mama Murphy would be a fantastic bet in card games. A few seconds pass, and then a small, yellow box is presented. 

It looks almost like an old altoid container, except the word “chems” has been hastily scratched into the lid with the tip of a knife. 

“It’s called the sight.” Mama Murphy looks away, relaxing against the wall. 

More nonsense. But it explains the shaking, the haze in her stare. Nora begrudgingly decides to let it go. There’s a steady thrum beginning to form just behind her eyes, and this conversation is unquestionably the cause. The old woman doesn’t notice, so she forces the topic anyhow.

“They say being an addict isn’t a good thing. But the outcome of the sight is almost always good, so they must be wrong.”

It’s a struggle to stop herself from rolling her eyes. She shuts them instead. “Good, as in?”

“As in...affirmation.” The old woman deduces. “As in, _answers_. You wouldn’t have found your son without it, so it’s surely a good thing.”

“Two negatives _do_ make a positive.” Nora responds.

“If you’re alluding to me as the second negative...well, it doesn’t really matter, does it? You’ve conceded that it _does_ lead to a positive in the end, and the end justifies the means.”

“You know,” Nora shakes her head in disbelief, but keeps it out of her voice out of spite. “A couple hundred years ago, you could be arrested for that. You could lose educational funding, and you know what else?”

Mama Murphy looks to her curiously. 

“You could die.”

“Oh, _pah_.” She swats her hand in the air. “If it was going to kill me, it would have already!”

“Death almost always comes unexpectedly.”

“Listen, kid. I don’t need you bossing me around. You may be older than I am on a _technicality,_ but I have certainly witnessed more of this world than you have. And even if I die here right now, I’d say it was a life well lived.”

 _A life well lived_ . Once, for a life to be considered “well lived”, a woman had to have three things: a home, a husband, and at least one child. For months, Nora had her grasp on all three. Those months seemed to be mere moments to her now, all caught up in her memory, intertwined with other moments, many good, many bad. She’s unsure if the life she had led had been one well lived now. Had she done what was right for herself? Sure, she’d done what _other_ people had told her. _Be married by 24, attain a career that’s deemed “professional”, live in the perfect neighborhood with the perfect children and the perfect life-_

She’d always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. There’s a bubble in her chest, something between bitter laughter and a sob; this must be it.

The thought brings on a wave of immense guilt. For Nate? For _Shaun_? She’d do anything. Self-doubt is a plague, and she won’t be decreased by it. Her inner turmoil leaves her with more questions than answers, and though she can hear the elderly woman babble on about whatever the working parts of her mind could conjure up, she begins to wonder what she’s doing back in Sanctuary.

“Well?” Mama Murphy stares at her expectantly.

“What?” Nora looks up, startled by her assertive tone.

The old woman’s eyes narrow. “Did you find your son?”

The answer to that is...complicated. Even thinking about it onsets a wave of things she had been avoiding on the trek back, all ranging from the overwhelming anxiety at the thought the Institute had her son to the permanent image of Kellogg’s insentient eyes staring up at her from the floor merely seconds after death. She’s suddenly nauseous.

“No.” She says simply.

Mama Murphy’s shoulders droop, but it's so slight that someone not looking for it wouldn't have noticed. “I’m really sorry to hear about that, kid.”

“He’s with the Institute.” Nora continues, unprompted. There’s some urge to share, to _overshare_ . Maybe she’s drunk on Mama Murphy’s _aura_ , or some other illogical bullshit she can hear the woman say in response to her reaction. “And he’s ten years old.”

Even Marcy and Jun, both busy with their own grief, seem to sink with the admittance. Only feet away, by the fire, they exchange a look of mutual discomfort, and Nora can’t find it in her to care.

“Kid?” There’s suddenly a hand on her shoulder, fingers hardened over the years but grip so light and soft like the person behind fears Nora will break. “What are you doing here?”

Another loaded question. And one she certainly isn’t aware of the answer to.

“I don’t know.”


End file.
